


Lips Like Sugar

by poisontaster



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-09
Updated: 2007-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: John feels a certain embarrassment that he knew what it felt like to have Ronon come long before he knew what it was like to kiss him.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Lips Like Sugar

Sometimes John feels a certain embarrassment that he knew what it felt like to have Ronon come over his hand, his belly, inside him, long before he knew what it was like to kiss him.

Oh, he understands the 'reasons'; their fucks have been fast and frantic, born from adrenaline and panic and the laughingly sick relief of not being dead—again. But in moments of leisure—as few and finite as those are—John has to wonder: how hard would it have been, to close those last few inches between them and find out what Ronon tastes like, find out if his lips are as soft, as bitten as they look?

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't know why.

Except that's not really true, is it? John knows _why_. It's the same reason that married men don't kiss their mistresses or their whores…though he hates to apply that metaphor to him and Ronon.

But as cliché as it might sound, there's a truth that those married guys know that John's been avoiding: a kiss means something. A kiss takes this out of the realm of comradely fucking and into…something else. Something complicated. And unless it involves aerodynamics, John's got a shitty record with complicated. And he's hesitant to pair his _bad_ relationship with complicated with his _good_ not-really-a-relationship with Ronon.

It makes sense in his head. Really.

He wonders what it means that Ronon doesn't even try. There was one slight feint-and-duck way back at the beginning, with Ronon pressing him into the wall of some shitsplat ale house while jerking him off with the other hand…

…and then nothing. John had turned his face to the side without even really thinking about it and Ronon had contented himself with the skin of John's neck and then it had just never come up again.

Knowing Ronon is a little like one of those promotional puzzle-games at McDonalds. Wait. Bear with him; there's a metaphor here.

He collects these pieces, pieces that come as part of something else, stuck on and half-disguised. Sometimes—more often than not—they're endless variations on the same piece and he's getting nowhere at all. Sometimes, he'll get a new piece, adding to the sum total, but it rarely goes with any of the other pieces and so he's making _progress_ , but…not so useful. And no matter how many pieces he collects, it's a pretty safe bet that he'll never get the full set.

John's rather proud of that one.

But really, this is all bullshit, it's a diversion. It's a fantasia composed by his mind to distract him from the always awe-inspiring sight of Ronon on his knees, two seconds—or less—away from sucking John's dick.

Except….

"Ronon."

Ronon's fingers tense on John's thighs, the only outward expression of internal debate: to obey or to ignore?

John preempts the choice by hooking his forefinger under the stubborn arch of Ronon's chin, tipping his head back so their eyes meet.

"What?" Ronon's tone is rough, lust or anger or some combination of the two.

John sighs, the embryonic traces of _complicated_ scratching at his nerve endings. "I just wanted…" He says _fuck it_ then and just bends, hands crawling into the heated nest of Ronon's hair to cup the skull beneath it. He molds the delicate bones behind Ronon's ears with his thumbs at the same time he maps the hard-soft curves of Ronon's mouth with his lips.

At first, there's nothing, only the slight frictional shift of air and skin and Ronon tensed to breaking on the points of his knees. Then Ronon breathes out and John breathes in and it opens and flows and it stops being complicated and just starts _being_.

"That." John's proud his voice doesn't shake when they pull apart, still breathing to the same weird, syncopated rhythm. His forehead rests against Ronon's; Ronon's ridiculously long eyelashes tangle with his own, tickling. "I just wanted that."

"Well, now you have it." Ronon's hands jerk into motion, though Ronon doesn't seem to be aware of it; agitated spider crawls against John's skin.

John cocks his head to the side to lean in again and smiles. "Yeah, I guess I do."


End file.
